


Bedside Manner

by HitanTenshi



Series: Bedside Manner [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Eventual Morino Ibiki/Umino Iruka, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 13:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14672199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HitanTenshi/pseuds/HitanTenshi
Summary: Ibiki and Inoichi clean up after Touji Mizuki’s attempted murder of Uzumaki Naruto and Umino Iruka. Ibiki learns things about Iruka in the process.





	Bedside Manner

“Has he cracked yet?”

Ibiki closes the wrought door behind him with a thunderous sound. His attention is already on Inoichi, who stands over their latest prisoner: the traitor, Touji Mizuki. For an Academy chuunin-sensei with delusions of grandeur, Ibiki would have thought a few hours would be plenty of time for Inoichi to read Touji like so many picture-books.

Imagine his surprise, then, when Inoichi answers his (intended to be rhetorical) question with a shake of his head. Exhaling slowly, Inoichi lowers his hands from either side of the seated, bound, and incapacitated Touji and turns to face Ibiki with a solemn expression.

“This one is going to be difficult. He knows how to protect his own mind. I fear… that is, I believe… he has had ANBU training.”

“What?” Ibiki crosses the cell in a matter of strides to reach Inoichi’s side. “How can that be? He isn’t on the list of ANBU operatives.”

“The _official_ list, you mean.” Inoichi speaks as one who doesn’t entertain much of conspiracy theories, yet is not so certain of his position as to deny evidence when it stares him in the face.

Frowning, Ibiki tugs at an existing rip in Touji’s left sleeve to bare the prisoner’s upper arm. In the spot where one would expect to find the ANBU tattoo on an operative, all Ibiki finds is a bruise — one of the many Touji had been sporting upon his arrest. However, even ANBU have ways of concealing their tattoos for undercover missions, and Ibiki has worked with more than his fair share of ANBU. Enough to learn some of their basic tricks. Pressing his index finger to Touji’s upper arm, Ibiki sends a pulse of chakra through the skin, willing any disguises to dissipate. Sure enough…

“I’ll be damned.”

“There isn’t exactly a process in place for us to deal with ANBU operatives gone rogue,” says Inoichi.

And it’s true — ANBU runs such a tight ship that they usually clean up their own messes before anyone else gets involved. In fact, the last time anyone had even _heard_ of an ANBU going rogue had been five years ago, with Uchiha Itachi.

Ibiki scowls at the tattoo. “Well, since ANBU hasn’t come to collect him yet, we’ll deal with him as we’d deal with any other traitor. Just more roughly. If he really _is_ ANBU, he can take it.”

To prove his point, Ibiki slaps Touji across the face, enough to rouse him from the stupor Inoichi’s mind-delving jutsu had placed upon him. Touji takes several breaths to orient himself to his current situation before he seems to gather his wits.

“Rise and shine,” Ibiki delivers with false cheer. He stands at his full and considerable height now, using every inch to loom, intimidating, over Touji.

The prisoner watches him in silence for a moment, but then… he smiles. Leers, really. “So I suppose my brilliant plan _didn’t_ go off without a hitch.”

“Not so much,” Ibiki confirms, not a drop of sympathy wasted on this scum. “I reckon it all went to hell the moment a pre-genin beat the shit out of you.”

To Ibiki’s (and, if the glance they share is any indication, Inoichi’s) puzzlement, Touji chuckles. “Oh no, Ibiki-san, it all went to hell the moment Iruka betrayed me.”

That gets their attention. “Betrayed?” Inoichi echoes. “Odd phrasing for a traitor to be using, don’t you think, Touji?”

“But accurate, nonetheless.” Turning his head as much as his restraints allow, Touji spits on the floor. “Filthy coward got cold feet and decided at the last minute to pick that demon instead of me.”

“It should only be natural for a sensei to protect his student,” Ibiki points out.

“Maybe so, but is it so natural for one to protect the host of the monster that killed one’s parents? Iruka was supposed to be on my side, not the fox brat’s.”

Ibiki shifts his weight to tower even more over his prisoner. “Are you insinuating Iruka-sensei as your accomplice in this scheme?”

Touji lifts a wicked grin to meet Ibiki’s glower. “If I’m going down for this, I’m sure as hell going to take Iruka with me.”

+.+.+.+.+

“Are we really going to interrogate him?” Inoichi asks, concern lining his face.

“We don’t have a choice,” Ibiki reminds him.

“But there’s just no way that Iruka-sensei would be complicit in such a plot.”

“If he has nothing to hide, then he has nothing to lose by cooperating with our interrogation, now does he?” As Ibiki scans a clipboarded document, he continues. “It’s fact that he’s been Touji’s best friend for years. Even if Touji hadn’t dragged him into this, we would have to question him for details of the events of last night and for an establishment of Touji’s character. This just means we add a few more questions onto the list.”

Inoichi sighs. Ibiki doesn’t blame him for being so reluctant. From Ibiki’s own experiences with Iruka (limited as they had been), the man has a good heart. Perhaps too good a heart for the shinobi lifestyle. That may be why Iruka had turned to teaching in the first place. Ibiki has a hard time picturing the man meaning anyone harm. Well, at least, more harm than the embarrassment that comes from falling prey to a practical joke. If Anko’s tales are anything to go by, Iruka hadn’t _quite_ grown out of the pranking he’d picked up in his youth.

It’s a muddy business, this, but, assuming Iruka is in fact innocent, maybe he can provide some clarity.

It is with this thought that Ibiki and Inoichi make their way to Konoha’s hospital complex. A straightforward inquiry at the reception desk directs them to Iruka’s room, but someone else has beaten them there.

“Whaddya mean, I can’t see him?” a bratty voice carries to them well before they turn the corner. A quick assessment tells Ibiki this is likely the Uzumaki boy. It’s just as well — they’ll need to ask him some questions about last night, too.

“Umino-san is not in a condition for lively company,” a nurse replies sternly. “He needs strict bed-rest.”

As that information pertains to their purpose here, Ibiki gets the nurse’s attention as soon as they enter her sight: “Excuse me, how strict is that need for bed-rest?”

One glance at their T&I-issued trench coats seems enough to fill her in. “…If it’s for official business, you may see him.”

“How come they get to go in, but I don’t!?” the Uzumaki boy protests.

The nurse shoots him a sharp glare. “Because _they_ have official business and _you_ do not.” Looking back to Ibiki, however, she emphasizes, “But, _please_ , make sure he remains still.”

“He was badly injured in the confrontation?” Inoichi asks.

She nods. “About a dozen shuriken wounds. Most of them aren’t severe, but one… from the size of it, it had to be from a fuuma. And it hit him squarely in the back. Adrenaline likely carried him through for a little while, but, between the original damage and subsequent aggravation, inflammation is pressing on the spinal column.”

Her expression is solemn. With so many shinobi patients, she no doubt knows how devastating such injuries can be to a ninja’s future. “Without careful observation and rest, he could lose feeling and mobility from the chest-down.”

Ibiki considers that. Stooping slightly to Inoichi’s ear-level, he murmurs, “We can save the bulk of our questions until he has stabilized.”

“Agreed.”

“Perhaps just one of us should go in? Your daughter was one of his students this year, right? Your presence might put him at ease more than mine.”

Before Inoichi can reply, both men hear a choked sob. Reacting instinctively, they turn toward the sound to find the Uzumaki boy hugging his knees as he tries not to break down.

“Iruka-sensei,” he whimpers. “Iruka-sensei protected me. He got hurt b… because of me. Is Iruka-sensei gonna… gonna lose his legs… because of me? That’s n… not fair…”

In spite of everything regarding the Uzumaki boy, Ibiki sees the compassion of a father soften Inoichi’s gaze.

“You go in,” Inoichi says to Ibiki. “I’ll handle this.”

With a nod, Ibiki leaves the distraught boy with Inoichi and enters the hospital room alone.

The blinds are angled to shut out most of the light, no doubt to help the patient sleep as much as possible. As such, Ibiki does not flip on the overhead fluorescent, but pauses a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room before crossing the tiles to reach the bed.

Umino Iruka lies on his stomach, unmoving save for the rhythmic rise and fall of breathing. A quick once-over offers that the reason for his seemingly peaceful rest is a series of IV tubes connected to his left arm. Ibiki scans the labels on the drip bags and confirms his suspicions: they’ve got him on the really good stuff.

The nurse from before slips into the room behind him, careful to close the door quietly.

“How long has he been asleep?” Ibiki asks, keeping his voice down.

“Since we set him up here. He passed out from pain and blood loss shortly after he was brought in. It may be a few hours yet.”

Ibiki nods. “I’ll wait.”

“Eh? But—”

“I won’t be satisfied to leave the rest of my questions for later until I can confirm a few things with Iruka-sensei. I promise not to let him exert himself when he wakes.”

“In fact,” he adds, a thoughtful thumb to his chin, “you should probably place restraints on him while he’s docile. That way, you can be sure he’ll remain lying down as he should.”

She balks. “W… With all due respect, this isn’t the Torture and Investigation Headquarters.”

“But _this_ ,” he gestures to Iruka, “ _is_ an asset to my current investigation. And, just in case he and I must discuss something that might make him want to escape, I would feel better if he were secured. Now, _you_ can secure him, or _I will_. Which would you prefer?”

It doesn’t take long for her to pick.

+.+.+.+.+

Iruka doesn’t open his eyes until evening. And Ibiki would know: he’d been keeping watch over the unconscious sensei the whole time. (Visiting hours be damned when there’s official business to be had.) Gofers from T&I had ferried paperwork back and forth between his setup and Headquarters, so at least he hadn’t been bored as he had waited. Even in the moments where he’d had nothing else to occupy his time, he’d taken interest in analyzing Iruka. There’s something gentle and genuine in his face that unbroken sleep highlights. Unlike Ibiki’s own facial scars, Iruka’s clean slash from some old wound (for Iruka had carried that scar for as long as Ibiki had known him) neatly bisects his features. It hardly makes him look grizzled. If anything, it… becomes him. In other circumstances, Ibiki might have sidled up to the sensei and offered him a drink. Maybe there will still be a chance for that, when this mess is cleaned up and Touji’s accusations against Iruka are cleared.

With the dark color of Iruka’s eyes, it’s difficult to tell that they are indeed open. Were it not for the fluttering of short lashes, the scrunching of cheeks and brow, he might have missed it. Ibiki decides to test the air.

“Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka’s eyes open a little more, trying to focus on him. The sensei’s first attempts at speech are slow and jumbled — likely from the medication currently pumping through his system. Ibiki can be patient when it matters, and it does matter here, so he waits until Iruka can string a few words together.

“Wh… Where… am I?”

“Hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

Iruka’s eyes drift around, a sign of his effort to recall. “…Naruto.”

“The boy is fine. Worried about you, more than anything else.”

“…Mizuki.”

“The traitor is, as might be expected after the beating the Uzumaki boy gave him, less fine.”

A peculiar, stricken expression works its way onto Iruka’s face, as if the thought of Touji’s pain causes _him_ pain. Ibiki keeps his own expression as unfeeling as stone.

Iruka must then notice that he can’t move. Ibiki logs at least three experimental tugs on his restraints.

“I’m afraid you must stay exactly where you are, Iruka-sensei. Both for your own sake and for others’.”

If his mind were clear, perhaps Iruka would catch on. The intelligence scores in his file are certainly on par with most tokujou. As it is, Iruka squints, tries once more to shift his position, only to wince in pain when he tenses his back.

“Like I said, sensei, stay where you are.”

Iruka grunts acknowledgement. Ibiki watches the beginnings of emotions flit across his features, but each time the effects of the medication dull the changes, draw the expression back toward vacancy.

He won’t get much of anything out of the sensei in this condition. Satisfied with that for the time being, Ibiki stands and makes to depart. “I’ll come to see you again when you’ve recovered some. Take care until then, Iruka-sensei.”

“Ibiki-san.”

The sudden clarity in the voice prompts Ibiki to look back over his shoulder. Through force of will, Iruka is focusing on him intently, trying to understand.

“Am I… under investigation?”

“For now.”

“I see. I’ll cooperate… to the best of my ability.”

“I appreciate it, Iruka-sensei. Rest well.”

The brief conversation alone seems to have drained Iruka’s energy. The last Ibiki sees of him before closing the door, Iruka lies still, eyes drooping closed with exhaustion.

+.+.+.+.+

“Well, some good did come of encountering the Uzumaki boy at the hospital.”

Ibiki looks up from his desk at Inoichi’s pleased tone.

“Oh?”

“He asked me why we had gone to see Iruka-sensei, so I told him. And then he asked me if I could question him instead so that Iruka-sensei can rest.”

Consider Ibiki’s curiosity piqued. He motions for Inoichi to continue.

“So I brought him back here — to one of the notably less frightening-looking rooms, of course — and recorded his answers. I have also submitted a request to Sandaime to perform a cursory scan on the boy’s mind regarding the events on the night of the incident, as he _is_ our only other witness.”

“Did your questions shed any light?”

“On Iruka-sensei’s involvement? I am all the more certain now that Touji is trying to set his old friend up as his accomplice out of spite. A sore loser, if ever I have seen one.”

Ibiki nods, then taps a thoughtful finger to his chin as he recalls the expression on Iruka’s face when Ibiki had told him of Touji’s arrest. “Still…”

“Still,” Inoichi agrees, “we will have to ask Iruka-sensei _some_ questions about Touji. But, with the Uzumaki boy’s account, we should have no trouble clearing him of any suspicion.”

“Good work.”

“Ah, well… I’ll sleep better knowing we can let Iruka-sensei rest and heal before badgering him with our investigation further.”

“Agreed. And since he means to cooperate, there’s no need to rush.”

So when, barely a week later, a runner from the hospital tells him Iruka is entreating the whole staff to approve his discharge, consider Ibiki perplexed. Naturally, he heads over to deal with the miscommunication.

“Iruka-sensei—”

“Please, Ibiki-san.” He’s more alert now. They must have weaned him off of the really good stuff down to a weaker painkiller. “Just for three days — then I’ll rest as I’m told!”

“What’s so important in the next three days that you feel such a need to be released?”

“Naruto’s submitting his genin registration tomorrow, and the day after that he’s being assigned to his team. I have to see this through, for him! I just have to!”

The determination in Iruka’s eyes in genuine. He really cares about the Uzumaki boy, enough to put his own recovery at risk. As foolish a decision as that is, the sentiment behind it is noble. Ibiki’s non-professional side would have less trouble letting him go, but this isn’t that simple.

“If I break protocol to do this for you, what do I get in return?” asks Ibiki, ignoring the surprised and worried looks on the faces of the nurses around Iruka’s bed.

Iruka’s expression wavers. “I’m already going to give my full cooperation for your investigation. What more can I do?”

That’s a fair point. After a moment’s thought, however, an idea occurs to Ibiki, and his mouth quirks up at one corner.

“When the investigation is over, you can let me take you out for drinks.”

It had, perhaps, sounded better in his head than aloud. Iruka stares at him for a good six seconds before putting words together.

“Is it appropriate for the head of T&I to have drinks with the subject of an investigation?”

“Iruka-sensei, we both know you’re only _a_ subject of this investigation because _the_ subject wanted to make your life difficult.”

Iruka scoffs, though the sound is hollow. “I think he did enough of that by slicing up my spine.” He takes another pause. “I’m not sure how I feel about promising something personal as a favor to return for something professional.”

“I’m not sure you have all that many options, sensei, but… if I label it as a debriefing, will that help?”

A resigned sigh. “If you insist, Ibiki-san.”

“Thank you, sensei.”

With that, Ibiki convinces the flabbergasted nurses to authorize a placement of temporary seals along Iruka’s back to prevent further damage to the spine. Throughout the discharge process, Ibiki catches Iruka glancing his way more than once, sometimes with a look of gratitude, other times with a look of what Ibiki might dare to call… interest. But it’s too soon to discern how deeply that interest may run. Whatever had gone on between Touji and Iruka had been enough to bring up that momentary distress in Iruka’s face in spite of all the medication fogging over his brain. Iruka is likely carrying more injuries from Touji than just the kind dealt by shuriken — whether he has had the chance to acknowledge and process those injuries is another matter.

Ibiki decides then and there that he doesn’t mind keeping tabs on Iruka to that end. It isn’t as though Konoha has a division dedicated to preserving the mental or emotional stability of its constituents. And something, some niggling hunch, tells him that Iruka is more fragile right now than he’s letting on, injury or no injury.

+.+.+.+.+

True to his word, Iruka presents himself at T&I Headquarters three days later.

“You look as if you expect me to place you under arrest, sensei.”

“Should I not? I understand that, even if you believe me to be innocent, you must take precautions.”

Ibiki draws the moment out with a long glance Iruka’s way before he replies, “We’ve set a tail on you. That’s enough for me.”

Some of the tension lifts from Iruka’s shoulders. “I did wonder why I felt like someone was watching me all day,” he says with a hint of a laugh.

“Like you said: a precaution. For now, please just go home and rest as much as possible.”

Iruka picks at the scar across his nose. It’s a surprisingly cute tic that almost distracts Ibiki from what Iruka says next.

“Sandaime-sama asked me to join him for lunch tomorrow. I didn’t want to push my luck, since you’ve already been so accommodating, but…” The question supplies itself.

“I don’t see why not,” says Ibiki, “so long as you _rest_ aside from that.”

“I will. I promise.” Iruka dips his head (for the sake of his back, Ibiki is glad he hadn’t tried to bow) and makes to exit. At the threshold, however, he looks back.

“Was there something else, sensei?”

“It’s just… How is Mizuki?”

He could have guessed that would be it. “Uncooperative,” he chooses to reply.

“Will the investigation mean that I will interact with him?”

“That depends on how it proceeds.”

“I see.” A pause, then, “Thank you for your time, Ibiki-san, and for your patience.”

Ibiki grunts acknowledgement as the door closes behind Iruka. Afterward, he bores an imaginary hole into the wood as he ponders the nuances of Iruka’s expression. It had appeared again: that look of empathetic pain. Yes, he knows that Touji and Iruka had been best friends since childhood, but does that truly warrant such compassion from the betrayed for the betrayer?

Perhaps Iruka is simply too kind for his own good. Or perhaps…

“Ibiki-san!”

Startled from his thoughts, Ibiki has one hand halfway to a kunai strapped under the lip of his desk before he registers the voice.

“Inoichi-san? What’s wrong?”

“Touji,” Inoichi pauses to get a full breath, “Touji says he’ll talk. On one condition.”

Ibiki inclines his head, waiting.

“He wants to talk to Iruka-sensei.”

Why does that not surprise him? Scrubbing his chin, Ibiki sighs through a curse. “Did he give any specifics?”

“He said that he _‘would be more obliged to answer’_ our questions if Iruka were the person to whom he was speaking.”

In a huff, Ibiki pushes up from his chair and beings to pace in front of his desk.

“You suspect he has some deeper purpose behind this request?” prompts Inoichi, watching him with concern.

“I suspect he intends to cause Iruka-sensei as much pain as possible. He wants to flaunt whatever the hell he was up to in Iruka-sensei’s face and watch the reactions.”

“How sadistic,” Inoichi laments.

Ibiki halts and faces his colleague. “What are our options?”

“At this point?” Inoichi rubs a finger between his brows. “I would have to tear Touji’s mind open to get what we want out of him. And even then, he might be able to destroy that information before I reach it.”

Ibiki nods. That much is a known ANBU practice, used when captured with no hope of escape. Better to die and take the information with them than to give anything to the enemy.

“As distasteful as the idea of putting Iruka-sensei through an interview with Touji is… this may be the best way to wrap up this whole messy business,” concludes Inoichi.

Ibiki nods once more. “I’ll inform Iruka-sensei of this, present the idea to him. If he’s willing, then… I say we go through with Touji’s request.”

“Very well. I’ll prepare what we’ll need to detect whether or not Touji’s answers are truthful. I wouldn’t put it past him to sneak a lie or two in, even now.”

“I’ll leave it to you.”

And, with that, Ibiki is left again with his thoughts. He turns the events over and over in his head, looking for details he may have missed. But all he comes back to is that look on Iruka’s face. After dwelling enough, he comes to a decision: he must interrogate Iruka before the meeting with Touji. Only then can he be certain that Iruka is not, after all, in some way Touji’s pawn in all of this.

+.+.+.+.+

When Ibiki knocks on Iruka’s door the next afternoon, the answer is prompt.

“Ibiki-san.” After blinking away momentary confusion, Iruka steps back from the threshold. “Please come in — I just put water on.”

Murmuring thanks, Ibiki enters, removes his sandals, and steps into Iruka’s apartment proper. It’s modest, quaint even, but the practicality of it suits Iruka, in his opinion.

“How have you been managing?” An easy enough question with which to test the air.

“Well enough.” Iruka bustles over to the kettle, as it begins to whistle for attention. Turning then to Ibiki (with his whole body posture — no doubt to avoid arching his back), Iruka asks, “Is chamomile all right? The medications have been knotting up my stomach.”

“That’s fine.” After a beat, he realizes, “Iruka-sensei, you should sit down. Just tell me where your cups are and how you like your tea — I’ll handle the rest.”

Iruka stares at him for a good three seconds, wearing the expression of a man who is not at all used to proffered help.

“Must I insist?” Ibiki presses.

The question seems to break Iruka’s trance. He blinks, nods, then points to a cupboard to his right. “Honey’s on the shelf below them,” he adds, stepping aside so that Ibiki can take over.

“Do you like sweet things, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka turns pink and picks at his scar. Answer enough. It could easily become entertaining to say the right things to get that expressive face to emote, Ibiki notes. Cynically, he can understand why Touji would want to confess in Iruka’s presence.

“I don’t ask to condescend,” he clarifies, picking two mugs at random from the cupboard and then the honey. “Far be it from me to come between a man and how he likes his tea.”

The phrasing twitches a smile out of Iruka. Only after he turns away, presumably to hide his previous flush, does he mention, “One spoonful of honey, if you would be so kind.”

Ibiki grins to himself as he watches Iruka shuffle over to the table. Not wishing to damage Iruka’s pride, he refrains from asking if Iruka needs help sitting down, just watches as the sensei carefully maneuvers himself into a seated position, using the wall as a brace.

While the tea steeps, there is little to distract him from his purpose, so perhaps the best thing is just to get on with it. “Iruka-sensei.”

“Mm?”

“What you asked yesterday, about whether you would have to interact with Touji…”

Iruka waits for him to continue, but his posture shifts toward tense, his fingers curling into loose fists against the top of the table. Ibiki doesn’t feel any threat from the defensive gesture, but he notes it nonetheless.

“It seems that the investigation may need to head in that direction.”

He can see Iruka chew on the inside of his lip as he absorbs that. But then… “All right.”

“You aren’t going to ask me why this would be necessary?”

“It’s not my place to ask. If you say it’s necessary, then I believe you, and you’ll have my cooperation.”

So many of Anko’s drinking stories had featured Iruka’s penchant for speaking his mind, even when the circumstances had boded against it. In contrast, this passivity… Ibiki doesn’t like it. “It’s not going to get you in trouble to say you don’t want to talk to him.”

Iruka’s gaze has sunk to the baseboards, reading of reluctance. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him. There are… things I would like to ask him, if possible. To clarify.”

“Well, he’s told Inoichi that he’ll only answer questions if you’re across the table from him, so I’d say you’ll get your chance. But don’t lie to me or yourself by pretending that you’re okay with squaring off against the bastard what nearly paralyzed you.”

A rueful smile twitches around Iruka’s lips. “He’d already paralyzed me before that.”

“Metaphorically?” Ibiki kneels at the table beside Iruka and leans a calculated distance into the sensei’s space. “Did you know he was going to try to take the sealing scroll?”

“No!” Iruka all but recoils from him, but the wall keeps him from getting far. “No, I never thought he would betray the village like he did! I thought I could trust him, even with the way he was.”

“And how was he?” He had, after all, come here to interrogate Iruka. Now is as good a time as any to start. “You knew Touji better than anyone else, yes? How did he act when it was just the two of you?”

Iruka blanches, which falls within Ibiki’s expectations to his questions. What does not, however, is the flush that creeps up Iruka’s neck afterward, the shame swirling in his dark eyes like tears threatening to well.

And that’s when Ibiki puts it together.

“You weren’t _just_ friends, were you.” He doesn’t even bother to phrase it as a question.

Iruka chokes on his own breath and looks away, which might as well trumpet confirmation.

“Were you… intimate?”

Eyes darting around to latch onto anything that isn’t Ibiki, Iruka trembles through a nod.

“How did he act when he was with you?”

Iruka opens his mouth, but his lower lip quivers dangerously, and all that slips out is a pained sound before he closes it again. There’s fear in his eyes mixed with the shame. Ibiki takes that fear as what Iruka had meant by Touji paralyzing him.

“Did he hurt you?”

Iruka makes to crawl away from him, but Ibiki grabs Iruka by the upper arm — not fiercely enough to bruise, but certainly enough to keep a recovering, frightened man in his seat.

“You said you would cooperate with my investigation, Iruka-sensei. I understand this is difficult for you to discuss — I understand that it looks bad for you to have been with Touji in such a relationship — but I need to know what happened so that I can defend your innocence in all this.”

Something about his turn of phrase sends another of those hollow flickers of a smile across Iruka’s face. With his wide eyes, the expression seems slightly crazed. “…Mizuki,” he says at last, his voice a flaky whisper, “didn’t leave much innocence for you to defend, Ibiki-san.”

Ibiki measures the sternness in his expression, aiming to sympathize in the midst of the needs of his interrogation. “This conversation is not official. I will only document the absolutely necessary information in my report, and I will not let Touji retaliate against you for telling the truth.”

Hearing that seems to buffer Iruka’s instinct to flee. He takes one shaky breath, then another, willing himself to relax in Ibiki’s grip. Ibiki shifts said grip to his other hand and loosens the hold to a casual one as a show of trust. His free hand then comes around behind Iruka and cautiously, making sure Iruka picks up on its presence before moving in, rests at the small of his back, just below scar tissue.

“Did he hurt you?” Ibiki asks again, his tone gentle.

After a shudder that might easily tip over into sobs, Iruka speaks. “I… I kept… making excuses f… for him. I thought he just… lost his temper easily. I thought I was… was making him angry. That it… was my fault.”

Emotional manipulation, too, then. Textbook, at that.

With every word that Iruka forces out, he seems to weaken in Ibiki’s hands. Touji must have insisted on keeping all of this secret, for confessing it to take such effort from Iruka. Given the double standards about relationships in the shinobi world, Ibiki wouldn’t blame a pair for keeping their intimacy under wraps, but Touji had used that secrecy to stop Iruka from getting help when he clearly had needed it. He had caged Iruka in pretty lies and then taken his time playing with his prey. Ibiki feels sick at the thought.

Given how shaken Iruka is, Ibiki doesn’t feel good about leaving just yet, even after getting the crux of the information he’d needed — because the conflict of emotions painting Iruka’s face is more than enough explanation for the glimpses Ibiki had caught of it before. How torn the sensei must be, wrestling with the betrayal of someone he had thought loved him.

“Iruka-sensei… this will sound forward, but… may I stay a while? I want to prepare you as much I can for what might happen during the interview tomorrow.”

“T-Tomorrow?” Iruka looks horrified.

“It’s fast, I know, but the sooner we go through with this, the sooner everything will be over. The sooner we can lock Touji up somewhere he can never hurt anyone again.”

Iruka ponders that, if his darting eyes are any indication. But eventually he places one hand over the one Ibiki still has around his arm. “Y… You’re right. Delaying it won’t… won’t help anything.”

“Would you feel better if you aren’t left alone until all of this is done?”

A ghost of a smile passes over Iruka’s once again wan face. “You already put a tail on me, Ibiki-san.”

“A tail isn’t authorized to hold your hand if you need support.”

Iruka quickly withdraws his hand from Ibiki’s, a tad affronted now. “I’m not a child.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you are dealing with a lot.” He leans in just that much more. “It’s not a crime to feel, sensei, but I need you to be strong tomorrow. If having support until you sit at that table with Touji will make that easier for you, I am happy to oblige.”

Iruka meets his eyes again at last, and Ibiki sees a flicker of that curiosity (that veiled interest) once more. “Do you go through so much for all your character witnesses?”

Ibiki graces him with a warm smile. “Just the ones I hope to have drinks with later,” recalling the favor he’d secured before.

Iruka glances down at Ibiki’s hand on his arm. “I hope you won’t expect too much of me, as far as that’s concerned. I anticipate that I may rebound quite badly.”

“If it can help you get through this mess, I don’t mind dealing with your rebound.”

“…That’s very kind of you, Ibiki-san, but… can we shelve that conversation until later?” Iruka has less raw emotion in his eyes now, and some natural color has returned to his face. His breathing is close to even, and his shaking has lessened. “It won’t help anybody if you compromise your own investigation by being indiscreet with a witness.”

Ibiki removes his hands, mimicking a sign of surrender. “Right you are. Consider that spot in the conversation marked for another time.”

Iruka nods and takes a deep breath, steeling himself back toward normalcy. “I wager the tea is steeped by now.”

Ibiki chuckles as he gets to his feet. “I won’t contest that wager.”

He makes sure to stir a heaping spoonful of honey into Iruka’s mug.

+.+.+.+.+

In respecting Iruka’s space and respecting the formality of the investigation, Ibiki takes his leave after they finish their tea. On his way down the steps from Iruka’s apartment complex, however, he signals the ANBU tail to notify him at once if Iruka’s stability takes a downturn.

The next day dawns. Inoichi’s expression is grim when he greets Ibiki — and Ibiki reckons he doesn’t look much better himself.

“Well,” says Inoichi, “shall we get on with it?”

By the time they have transferred Touji into the right room, the ANBU have escorted Iruka into the building. He looks pale again, but he meets Ibiki’s gaze head-on.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ibiki reminds him one last time.

Iruka musters a weak smile. “No, I do. I won’t be able to move on if I don’t face him now.”

With a solemn nod, Ibiki opens the door to the interrogation chamber. There’s one beat of suspense where the creak of the metal hinges is the only disturbance, but then Touji looks up at Iruka and smirks.

“Hey, Ru,” he says casually, as if they’re meeting over drinks. “How’ve you been?”

Ibiki can almost hear the way Iruka’s throat seizes up. Placing one hand at Iruka’s back, he steers the sensei into the seat across from Touji and takes up a post at one side, Inoichi on the other. An ignorant observer might think they’ve gathered round to play cards, if not for the shackles connecting Touji to the table.

Inoichi flips the power switch on the recording devices installed in the room and speaks into the microphone which juts out from the table like the stem of a plant. “This is Yamanaka Inoichi, Head of the Analysis Team in Konohakagure’s Torture and Investigation Division. With me is Morino Ibiki, Head of said division. We preside today over the confession of Touji Mizuki, who has been charged with treason against Konohagakure. Also present is Umino Iruka, the investigation’s chief witness, regarding both the incident of said crime and the character of the accused. Everything said hereafter will be considered part of the official record.”

“Oh, goody,” says Touji, entirely unconcerned. His eyes stay trained on Iruka.

Clearing his throat, Ibiki scans over his clipboard listing prepared questions. “Touji Mizuki, did you indeed commit the crime of which you are accused?”

Touji shrugs. “I mean, you’d book me for it either way, but sure, yeah, I tricked the demon into snatching that scroll.”

“What was your intent?”

“Aside from getting the fox brat killed by an angry mob and escaping with the Kyuubi’s power for myself? I was bored.”

“Why would you do such a thing? ANBU operatives are not characterized by killing boredom through such subversive means,” inserts Inoichi, ignoring the look of shock that washes over Iruka’s face at this information. So Iruka doesn’t know that Touji had been part of ANBU — all the more proof that he had played no willing part in this scheme.

Touji just grins. “Oh, that.”

“Yes,” agrees Ibiki, “ _that_. Care to explain how someone like you got into ANBU?”

“Why, I was _recruited_ , Ibiki-san.” Touji fakes offense that Ibiki would think anything different.

“By whom?”

“Mm.” Touji gives a tilt of his head. “I’m not at liberty to say. If I told, you see, you might all have to die, and that would just be wasteful.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise. I mean, hey,” and Touji rattles his shackles. “ _I_ wouldn’t be the one slitting your throats.” He sighs dramatically. “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you on that matter. I’ve confessed to my crime, told you I did it for fun because this village is a swamp of boredom, and that’s that.”

Ibiki shares a glance with Inoichi, asking for silent confirmation that their equipment hasn’t detected any lies. Inoichi’s expression is… inconclusive. Wonderful.

“But, hey,” Touji cuts in, “let’s not make this _all_ about me, shall we? I mean, Ru’s a part of this, too. Have you questioned him _thoroughly_?”

Foreboding bristles the hairs on Ibiki’s arms. “We’ve learned everything we need to from Iruka-sensei.”

“Have you really?” Touji plays astonished. “He told you _everything_?” His head swivels back and forth between his inquisitors before landing (as Ibiki had been sure it would) on Iruka. The curl of his teeth is that of a predator preparing to tear into its dinner.

“Tell me, Ru, did you describe in detail how you have to bite back your screams when I fuck you?”

Ibiki slams both hands down upon the table, hard enough for the clatter to echo off of every hard surface in the room and no doubt leave a painful racket in the recording. He’s a shinobi praised for his control in high-pressure situations, but here, now? Red tinges the edges of his vision. “Don’t change the subject, Touji!”

But the bastard is already into his next sentence: “Did you tell them how you sit at the end of my bed like a dog, waiting for your master to pet your head and tell you what a good boy you are?”

“That’s enough, Touji!”

“That’s what you are, you know. A pitiful puppy, all alone in the world. You clung to me because I got you to think that I loved you, you sad, pathetic creature. Well, guess what? I’ve hated you all this time, Ru. The only people who ever loved you died twelve years ago because you pulled a stupid stunt in the middle of a battlefield. And me? All I think you’re good for is a laugh and a fuck. You’ve been my little bitch, nothing more.”

“Touji!”

“And you may think this is the end of it, that I’ll go away and you’ll be move on and be happy with someone else, but face facts, Ru. You’ll never be free of me. You’ll come crawling to my cell and let me fuck your face through the bars because you’ll have no one else. No one else will ever _want_ you. You may have fucked me over by siding with the fox brat, but I’ve sure as hell fucked you over in spades.”

Ibiki’s had enough. Beyond enough. Inoichi looks slightly ill from the sudden onslaught of slurs spat out in his presence, and Iruka… Iruka looks like each harsh word from Touji is a sharp kunai digging around in his flesh for the most tender spots.

Before Ibiki can get his hands around Touji to silence him, the bastard manages to grab the stem of the microphone and get in close to it. “Once more for the record: Umino Iruka is a weak, whiny waste of space whose only redeeming quality is the way he cries like a bitch in heat when you fuck him fast and har—”

With one motion, Inoichi deals a knife-handed blow to the back of Touji’s neck. The prisoner slumps onto the table over his shackles, dazed.

Ibiki feels a little robbed.

“Sorry,” Inoichi amends, though no one asks for his apology, “I just couldn’t listen to another word of that prattle. Iruka-sensei…” and he tries to catch Iruka’s gaze, which has gone cloudy with shock, “I am indescribably sorry about this. I had no idea he would start to go on and on about—”

“It’s fine.” Iruka’s voice is a shell of itself. He looks as fragile as Ibiki has ever seen him.

“Ibiki-san, I believe,” Inoichi pauses to steel himself with a fresh breath, “we have everything _useful_ we are going to get out of him?”

Ibiki nods, a little numb himself. He doesn’t care about Touji anymore. He just wants to get Iruka out of here as quickly as possible.

Thankfully, Inoichi seems to intuit as much. “Very well. Here ends the record.” He turns off the microphone, giving it a look as if it may attack him, before opening the door of the room to speak with the ANBU stationed outside. In no time at all, the guards follow him back, where they grab Touji by either arm, secure his shackles each to one of their own wrists, and make ready to march him from the chamber.

As the bastard is just now starting to come around, Inoichi clears his throat. “Well, it’s time to say goodbye, then,” and he glances between Touji and Iruka.

“…Goodbye, Mizuki.” Iruka’s voice is so papery thin that it’s barely audible.

Touji cracks a final grin. “Give us a kiss, Ru? It’s the last one you’ll get until you inevitably come visit me.”

Iruka looks nauseous. Ibiki gladly steps in.

“You can kiss your own ass, as far as anyone here cares, Touji.” He nods to the ANBU. “Get him out of here. We’ll handle the formalities later.” Once the hokage — oh, gods, Ibiki doesn’t even want to think about Sandaime having to listen to that fiasco — reviews the contents of the investigation and passes judgment, the matter will finally be closed.

Inoichi has come beside Iruka now, who hasn’t moved from his chair. In his most fatherly voice, he offers what comfort he can: “You did a brave thing, Iruka-sensei, to stand up to him as you did. You protected the Uzumaki boy and upheld the Will of Fire. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

But shame is painted on every line of Iruka’s face. Without warning, he curls forward, head in his hands, in a feeble attempt to hide the sobs that suddenly wrack his body.

Ibiki’s gut clenches with sympathy. He approaches Iruka’s other side and braces the trembling shoulders. “I’ll look after him,” he tells Inoichi.

“You’ll hear no argument from me.”

So, with some effort, Ibiki lifts Iruka to his feet and guides him from the room. In his distress, Iruka is surprisingly pliant, walking where Ibiki steers him, even though there are moments when it seems like Ibiki’s hold on his shoulders is all that’s keeping him upright.

Before they leave T&I Headquarters, though, Ibiki spares a thought for Iruka’s dignity. No shinobi wants to be seen breaking down on the open street. So he sheds his trench and drapes it over Iruka like a hooded cloak. When he pulls Iruka a little closer to him, the effect conceals the sensei’s features entirely. Good — Ibiki would much rather someone start up a rumor that he has a mysterious visitor than one that Iruka is falling apart.

“Shall we go, sensei?”

Iruka sniffles through a hiccup, but Ibiki will take that as answer enough.

Once they get close enough to Iruka’s apartment, Ibiki closes the final distance with a shunshin. Iruka can barely coordinate his fingers through unlocking the place, but Ibiki doesn’t rush him. When they cross the threshold, however, Iruka looks around his small living space with eyes brimming full of fresh anguish. Regardless of the pain that must shoot through the poor man’s back to move so suddenly, Iruka crumples to his knees and buries his face in his hands again.

Ibiki wonders what memories of Touji have prompted the new outburst, but he doesn’t linger on the thought. Instead, he kneels beside Iruka and carefully lifts the trench coat off of him.

“Iruka-sensei?”

He gets no intelligible reply.

“Did you… Did he spend a lot of time here, with you?”

Iruka manages a nod through his sobs.

Well then, Touji really hadn’t been lying about how he’d repaid Iruka in spades. What must it be like to have the place where you live only remind you of the person who had betrayed you? And who had just rubbed it in your face? Ibiki cringes internally. Personally, it would make him pissed, but everyone handles their pain differently. Iruka is too kind for his to go toward anger. No wonder he can’t seem to stop crying.

Touji would probably call this behavior weak. And, indeed, by the average standards of the shinobi world, maybe it is. But Ibiki sees this man as someone who still has his human heart, who hasn’t had it deadened by the cruelty of their bloodstained society. The urge to protect and comfort Iruka swells in him.

“Come on, sensei,” and he places his arms under Iruka’s to prepare to help him up, “you’ve been through a great deal.” Not that Iruka needs reminding, he’s sure. “You need to rest. Come on.”

When Iruka’s legs won’t take his weight, Ibiki adjusts his grip and pulls one of Iruka’s arms over his own shoulders.

“Are you having any trouble feeling your legs?” he asks, a little firm, only because he needs to know if the inability is emotional or physical.

Iruka’s brow furrows with a moment’s concentration before he shakes his head.

“That’s good.” Ibiki tries to keep his voice soothing now. “I wouldn’t want to have to drag you back to the hospital.”

Slowly, he negotiates Iruka around the half-wall that divides the kitchenette from the bedroom. It would imply an invasion of privacy if he weren’t so concerned for Iruka’s wellbeing. As Ibiki glances to their destination, he can’t help but notice how pristine the state of the bed is, as if it’s never been properly slept in. Troubling.

He sits Iruka on the edge of the bed and then crouches to remove Iruka’s sandals. The action seems to bring a little clarity of mind to Iruka, because he slips his foot out of Ibiki’s hands.

“You sh… shouldn’t have to do that,” he says.

“Maybe,” Ibiki admits, “but I want to.” As he reaches in for a second attempt, he follows the thread of emotion pulling his chest taut and adds, “He’s wrong, you know.”

Iruka stiffens, but shows no further reaction.

“You aren’t alone. The Uzumaki boy was in a state when he heard you might not be able to walk after that injury. He’s gone and imprinted on you, I reckon.”

One corner of Iruka’s mouth edges toward a fond smile, but it’s short-lived. “Naruto is… a good boy.”

Ibiki nods. The village wounds aside, ostracizing the jinchuuriki had given Touji an opening. If the Uzumaki boy had been better monitored, this incident could have been avoided altogether.

What Ibiki doesn’t expect is for Iruka’s thoughts to be on the same wavelength as his own. “I should have done more. Naruto… thought I didn’t care. Why didn’t I do more? I failed him.”

“Iruka-sensei.” Having shod Iruka’s sandals, Ibiki scoops up the trembling hands in his own. “You didn’t fail him. No one faults you for struggling to accept him. You’ve still done far more for him than most in this village have. All that boy feels from you now is love and care, and that’s what matters. We all have our regrets, but all we can do with them now is move forward.”

Iruka shudders, perhaps from the invocation of the word _regret_. “…I’ve been so stupid,” he chokes out. “How did I… How did I not realize… what he was?”

“Touji?”

Iruka’s face twists with pain.

Ibiki shuffles closer to the bed. “You aren’t the first person to have love cover up another’s faults.”

“…so blind… so stupid…”

“You aren’t stupid, sensei. Touji played to your emotions.”

“My _weaknesses_ ,” Iruka corrects, a hollow, bitter sound bleeding out afterward.

Ibiki frowns. “You don’t really believe that.”

“Shouldn’t I, though?” Iruka’s volume jumps, fueled by a sudden, self-directed anger. “There’s got to be at least ten rules in the Ninja Code saying as much! I let my grief stop me from helping Naruto sooner! I let my infatuation stop me from reporting Mizuki sooner! What kind of shinobi does that make me!?”

Catching Iruka’s face between his hands, Ibiki holds him still, forces them to make eye contact.

“A human one.”

He lets that statement sink into Iruka’s empty gaze before he continues. “Not one of us is a perfect shinobi. Many of us have sacrificed our humanity for power or prestige. _You have not_. You ask what kind of shinobi that makes you? I’ll tell you. You’re a beacon of hope, for your students, your peers, even your superiors. You’re living proof that not all of us have to become monsters in order to stay alive.”

The glimmer of light in those dark eyes tells him to keep pressing. This is, after all, his realm of expertise. But the words he’s using are less of the exactly calculated sort — they’re straight from the heart. “You’re the kind of person that the rest of us would, figuratively or not, kill to be able to come home to. And Touji? That man doesn’t know the worth of what he’s thrown away.”

Somehow, he’s gotten closer as he’s spoken, until he’s nearly kneeling between Iruka’s legs. Their faces are so close that he can feel Iruka’s breath, less shallow than it had been before. “You’re beautiful,” Ibiki concludes, “inside and out. And Touji couldn’t have been more wrong in claiming that no one else would ever want you.”

Iruka gapes at him for some time before he responds in a breathless voice. “What… What makes you so sure?”

Ibiki doesn’t even have to think about his reply. “I’m standing here, aren’t I?”

The blush takes its time blooming across Iruka’s face. The sight of him, cradled in Ibiki’s hands, flushed and fragile, really is beautiful. It would be so easy to close the remaining distance between them and claim those slightly chapped lips full of promise.

“But,” Ibiki follows, before either of them can get swept up in the moment, “it’s too soon for that kind of talk, isn’t it? It should be shelved with our discussion from before, yes?” He waits for Iruka to manage a weak nod. “Good.”

When he finally releases Iruka’s chin, Ibiki internalizes his relief that Iruka doesn’t crumple as he had before. Though still processing the day’s troubles with glazed eyes, Iruka is visibly calmer. That alone is progress from his earlier distress.

“Now, then,” Ibiki advises, “you should lie down. I swear I’ve expected to hear a nasty crack from something by now.”

Iruka actually laughs at that, albeit briefly. “Don’t scare me like that, Ibiki-san.”

“Well, I am the torture expert — I’m afraid it comes with the job.” But he smile as he offers his arm for support to maneuver Iruka into a reclining position on his side.

As Iruka sinks into mattress and pillow, Ibiki glances around the room. “Maybe we should put a blanket over you so you don’t catch cold while you rest.”

“Closet shelf,” Iruka drones in a voice that gives away how drained he is.

Fetching it, Ibiki chuckles to himself at how motherly he’s acting. Then again, Iruka spends so much time mothering everyone else that maybe it’s only right for the fussing-over to come full circle.

Besides, Ibiki’s motivations aren’t as unselfish as a mother’s. He has hopes for those glimmers of interest he’s seen in Iruka’s eyes since leaving the hospital. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday not far off. Once Touji doesn’t have so much of a hold over Iruka.

Having all but tucked Iruka in, Ibiki prepares himself to settle in at the low table, but he pauses when Iruka speaks up.

“…Stay?”

Ibiki looks down at Iruka, wanting to be sure he understands. “Here?”

Iruka nods and points to the floor beside the bed. “Futon… in the closet.”

So there is. Ibiki spreads it out where Iruka had requested and sits cross-legged, his back propped against the frame of Iruka’s bed.

“Will this do?”

Iruka hums confirmation. “…Thank you, Ibiki-san.”

Hearing the rustle of fabric, Ibiki turns his torso toward Iruka. One hand has peeked out from under the blanket. It isn’t insisting to be held… but it is inviting.

“You’ve been so kind to me,” says Iruka, still surprised by the fact.

Ibiki smiles and takes the invitation of the open hand laying against the sheets. Iruka’s skin is still a little clammy, but there is warmth underneath. Ibiki gives the smaller hand in his a little squeeze, as if that may coax more of the warmth out to the surface.

“It’s my pleasure,” he soothes, and his thumb brushes against the back of Iruka’s hand in a lulling rhythm.

+.+.+.+.+

Ibiki doesn’t expect to find Iruka’s hand still in his when he wakes. The half-upright position beside the bed has left an ache in his back, but he’ll live. What matters is that Iruka had been able to sleep. Indeed, he still hasn’t stirred when Ibiki stretches (carefully, for some emotional force bids him not to release Iruka’s hand just yet). Which leaves Ibiki with waiting. This is not so different from how their contact during this investigation had started: Iruka asleep, Ibiki watching over him.

“Maybe he thinks I have a good bedside manner,” he says to himself, amused.

Proximity gives Ibiki his best chance yet to catalogue Iruka’s features. Though a little dry, the tan skin tempts Ibiki to stroke it, even to kiss it. But he isn’t so low as to press his advances on a man asleep, let alone a man still working his way out from under the wreckage of his past relationship. All he can do is make himself available — it’s up to Iruka to make the first move.

“…Ibiki-san.”

Sleep has left Iruka’s voice rough and tantalizing. Ibiki leans back upon his reputation of control for comfort.

“Good morning, sensei.”

The smile Iruka offers him is weak, but present. It’s as if Iruka is telling him that the morning is a little better with a trusted face to welcome him into it. So, Ibiki smiles back.

“How are you feeling?” Ibiki asks.

“…In which regard?”

“Mm. Physically, for starters.”

“Better than last night.”

“That’s good.” A pause that teeters on awkward. “And… emotionally?”

Iruka’s hand tightens around his. “…As close to _‘a bit better’_ as can be expected, I suppose.”

“Of course. As can be expected.”

Another pause. Usually, Ibiki is good with handling silences and directing them toward his conversational purposes, but he usually doesn’t have this obnoxious fluttering sensation getting in his way.

“So,” he says at last, “breakfast?”

It turns out that Iruka hasn’t the faintest clue how to scramble an egg without setting something on fire. Luckily for Iruka, Ibiki has some experience at a stove. (One time, he had severely rationed one prisoner’s meals for a month, and then had cooked and eaten a four course dinner in front of the fellow to push him over the edge to confession. Sometimes, getting creative with torturing shinobi pays off.) And since he doesn’t want Iruka to exert himself too much, it kills two birds with one stone to send the sensei to the table so that Ibiki can have total dominion over the kitchenette.

One applauded scramble of eggs later, they have a meal. Iruka honestly looks like he might cry as he inspects the warm, fresh food set before him with rice, toast, and tea (with honey added to both of the latter).

“Please, sensei,” and Ibiki chuckles, “if a spread this simple brings you to tears, I’m going to worry that you aren’t eating enough.”

“I eat Ichiraku’s pretty regularly,” Iruka counters before muttering thanks for the food and picking up his honeyed toast.

“How about other than Ichiraku’s?”

Iruka’s inability to hold his gaze is answer enough.

“My, my, it seems I’ve discovered you’re quite the hypocrite.”

“How so?” Iruka sounds a hair affronted.

“You’re always looking out for others, for your students especially. It’s the bedrock of your growing reputation. And yet, here you are, with a bed barely slept in and a kitchen barely cooked in. I can’t help but be concerned.”

Iruka’s blushing now.

“It’s not my intention to push where I’m not welcome,” Ibiki continues, undaunted, “but… I care about you, Iruka-sensei. I believe I made that clear last night. So, when… _if_ you ever want to let someone care for you — because I’ll understand if you don’t want that for some time, or perhaps ever, after what you’ve been through — please know that you need only ask, and I’ll be there.”

Iruka blinks acknowledgement, then hides his expression behind the rim of his rice bowl.

Content with the extent of his declaration, Ibiki tucks in as well. They pass the rest of the meal in silence, and Ibiki only speaks up afterward to insist on dishes duty, leaving a still flushed Iruka at the table.

But, finally, Ibiki finds himself running out of excuses to stick around. Iruka seems stable for now, if only superficially. Ibiki intends to leave the ANBU tail on duty for a few days yet to observe him. With that thought, he gathers his coat from one of the pegs by Iruka’s door and dons his sandals. Iruka has followed him to the miniscule genkan, eyes downcast and fingers fidgeting. It really shouldn’t strike Ibiki so distinctly as _cute_ , but what’s a man to do.

“Well, sensei,” announced as he stands, “I think I’ve imposed upon your hospitality long enough.”

When met with no protest, Ibiki turns, opens the door, and steps out.

Or, at least, he tries to, because a force catches one of his arms and prevents him from travelling forward. That force turns out to be Iruka’s hand, clenched tightly in the fabric of Ibiki’s coat sleeve.

“…Sensei?”

Iruka says nothing, but his lower lip is trembling again. Ibiki waits, and it seems like an age, but, at last…

“…Please, don’t go.”

Ibiki would like nothing more than to oblige him, but he can’t rush into this.

“I don’t want to enable something you may regret later.”

“I won’t.”

The reply is prompt this time, so much so that Ibiki’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead.

“I won’t regret it,” Iruka repeats, finally looking up at him, “because it’s you.”

Flattery, it seems, will get Iruka everywhere, because hot want curls in Ibiki’s stomach like a hungry creature, but he holds himself back for a little longer yet.

“And you’re certain you can trust me?” he presses.

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you could have taken advantage of me a dozen times by now, but you haven’t.”

“That could be a calculated ploy on my part.”

Iruka releases an exasperated sigh. “Are you _trying_ to talk me out of trusting you?”

“No,” Ibiki admits. “I just want to be sure that you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Eyes soft and open, Iruka gives his sleeve a small tug. “Plus, I did warn you, you know. I told you that I may rebound quite badly.”

Ibiki takes a step closer. He can almost hear Iruka’s heart flutter as he smiles down at him.

“And I believe told you that, if it would help you, I wouldn’t mind dealing with that. So… would it help you?”

Iruka swallows hard.

“…Yes.”

That settled, Ibiki leans in and kisses him. Iruka tastes like their breakfast, but the salty-sweet just draws him in deeper. He lets Iruka decide when to pull back.

“Well…” says Iruka, a little out of breath. “I believe I do still owe you that favor.”

“That’s true.” Grinning now, Ibiki places his hand over Iruka’s. “So, Iruka-sensei, would you let me buy you a drink?”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a short part two to follow. I am publishing them as separate works because part two will need a more mature rating ¬v¬


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